Yorkshire, 1901
by phabulousphantom
Summary: It's been two years since Grelle's promotion to head of the Yorkshire Branch of the Shinigami Dispatch Association, and five since she and Sebastian began their relationship. Eight souls are missing from her registers now and though her partner appears innocent, Grelle has much to learn about the consequences that await a reaper who gives her heart to a demon.
1. Chapter 1

It was quiet in Yorkshire. Empty. Vast. You could look out for miles and see nothing but hills and crags and rolling greens, trees and fields and heather far, far out until you could no longer see. Not a sign of life. Not a sign of humanity. Just the wind whistling through the stones and bushes, just the great clouds rushing across the sky. Just the sun and the rain and the stars and life—another _kind_ of life. The life of the earth, of the creatures who were one with instead of fighting against it. So many different shades of green… It was a wilderness that Emily Bronte had captured beautifully in her novel, it seemed to Grelle. She almost couldn't believe she got to live here.

Felixkirk was just close enough to York to make her commute a simple one, just far enough to be really and truly rural. They lived just on the edge of the Moors, and Grelle spent much of her time up on Sutton Bank looking out over the valley as she was now, wondering how exactly it was that her life had become what it had become.

She'd been promoted, and though the Yorkshire Branch was small and didn't require all that much management, she was proud nonetheless. It was a big step. And one in the right direction. Director Sutcliff. A big fancy title that came with its own office, a whole slew of responsibilities. Part of her was certain the higher ups had only given her the job to get her out of their hair in London.

Her thoughts came full circle then to the matter she'd gone up to the Bank to puzzle over in the first place: the missing souls. Eight so far. Perhaps the number was not quite so large, but even _one_ missing soul was cause for concern for any Shinigami, particularly one who was supposed to call herself Director. They'd disappeared over the past few months, a day before their appointed death at the correct time. At first they'd thought it was some mistake in recording, but now Grelle was not so certain.

"I thought I might find you here."

She started at the sound of his voice. Five years had passed, but she still wasn't used to him, to the way he would appear almost out of thin air. Five years of living together—sharing a house, sharing a bed, sharing a life—and Sebastian still made her nervous. They hadn't quite learned to trust each other yet.

Grelle didn't know how to respond, so she just smiled. Sebastian approached to join her on the edge of the bank.

"You're very contemplative," he said, looking over as he sat down. Grelle just blinked at him, coming out of a stupor that involved both thoughts of worry about the missing souls and astonishment at the fact that a demon still sought her company out the way Sebastian did.

When Grelle had been offered the position as head of the Yorkshire Branch, and she'd decided to take it, she had never expected that he would choose to go with her. London was better for demons, better for picking up stray souls when the overworked and understaffed Shinigami weren't looking. Here it was different. Smaller population, less collection to be done, and yet souls were still going missing. _Somehow_. It seemed that Grelle just couldn't catch a break when it came to bungling things up.

"I have to make my official report soon," she said. She and a small team of her colleagues had been investigating to no avail. Even Sebastian didn't have any leads. He drew a single finger across her forehead to catch the hair that had fallen into her eyes and tuck it behind her ear. She shivered at his touch.

"What will you write?" he asked.

Grelle shrugged. "I haven't the slightest."

"The Shinigami will want something." He brushed his fingers through the length of her hair, watching the motion of his hand attentively.

Sitting back, Grelle sighed. "I wish you wouldn't do that."

"What?"

 _Make my heart turn over at your touch,_ she wanted to say, but that was more an afterthought, and what she'd meant was what she said, which was, "Talk about the Shinigami as if I'm not one. Like you despise them."

"Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"A Shinigami?"

She rolled her eyes his direction and gave him a look. "You know very well that I am."

He smiled—that strange smile where his lips curled up but did not expose his teeth. It was such a wicked little devious expression that it had always made Grelle wonder what he was thinking that made him smile like that. Like he was amused.

"You do not seem very like a Shinigami to me," he said.

Quite suddenly, he was very near to her and touching his lips to hers in a kiss. She was startled at first, jumping back, but he just smiled like that again when she leaned away to look at him, and though the expression vexed her she also found it rather charming. It was a magnet, one that drew her to him and brought their lips together again. And again. And again.

Conversations with Sebastian almost always ended this way. She wasn't certain she'd had a real discussion with him in the whole of their five years. He was always distracting her, always running his fingertips across her neck and arms, looking at her with so much desire in his eyes. She'd never been desired like that. Hardly anyone had ever seemed to want her around, really. So when this being came along and treated her as though she was the only one who could meet his needs and that being was Sebastian Michaelis on top of it all, she couldn't help but buckle under that gaze. Then he turned his fingers to the buttons on her collar.

"Not here," she said, taking his hand and lowering it.

"There is no one, Grelle," he replied.

She shook her head. That wasn't the point. The point was that she'd let him lead her off track again and it had already been a thousand times too many. She had a report to put together.

"We ought to get home," she said. "I need to work."

He caught her hand when she tried to stand up, drew her back down and looked into her eyes for a moment. She could only stand that expression for so long before she had to look away, drawing in a breath, part of her wishing he didn't make her heart stutter the way he did.

"Just a moment longer," he said.

She nodded.

Sebastian gathered her into his arms, pressed a kiss to her neck, then turned his eyes out over the valley, running the fingers of one of his hands up and down her arm. Grelle couldn't help leaning against him, shutting her eyes and enjoying the warmth his body radiated. Five years. Five years she'd been with him now. It almost felt like a week.

"How long will you require to write your report?" Sebastian asked.

"I don't know," Grelle replied. "I don't know what I'm going to say."

"Is saying that the investigation is still ongoing not sufficient?"

"It's been months without a lead, Sebastian. Management will want to know why."

"Hm."

His fingers had stopped their motion up and down her arm. Thinking, he narrowed his eyes at the valley, maybe squinting against the sun which had just begun to set, pulling in black on the far side of the sky and coloring the rest of it orange and pink. A breeze picked up, rustling through the heather. Grelle titled her head to look back at him.

"You really don't have any leads?"

Those red eyes flicked her direction, smiling. Rather than answer, he took her face into his hands and kissed her. Gods, he was so good at that. She leaned into him, kissing back, and this time, when his fingers moved to undo the buttons on her collar, Grelle did not stop him.

* * *

Sebastian often wondered if Grelle knew that he did not sleep, or if she knew that he did not need it. After she would shut her eyes and her breathing would deepen, he would arise and walk the Moors or the empty lanes in town, or glance over all the paperwork she left out in her study, over the soul registers, To Die lists, assignments of reapers to positions in the county. Such sensitive information to leave in the presence of a demon.

Their house in Felixkirk was small, ancestral. A brown brick detached far out of town with a low stone wall and a yard filled with flowers and a garden and a chicken coop. It all seemed quite silly to him, to live as humans did, but then again Grelle had been a human once and old habits were hard to break, though he supposed it wasn't so much a habit as her nature. She always kept fresh cut flowers on the kitchen table.

That night, Grelle did not go to sleep. She stayed up, a candle burning beside three others on her desk in the study, writing her report. Sebastian had to pretend like he was going to bed, lie there for an hour or so, then he went down to check on her, feign like he was worried when she was going to get some rest. The stairs squealed on every step, so did the floorboards under his feet. The house was old, and in disrepair to his eye, but Grelle would not let him change it.

"It's cozy," she'd said.

He came into the doorway to the study, folded his arms and leaned against the frame.

"Grelle," he said.

She looked over at him from her desk, tired-eyed, her hands a mess and black with ink and smiled a sleepy smile.

"I'm sorry, love. I'll be up soon."

He stepped into the room, his arms still folded across his chest, and took his time walking over to stand beside her chair. His eyes flicked over her report, over the haphazard and almost illegible scrawl. Even her position as director had not improved her handwriting.

"I'm not sure they'll be able to read it at all," he chuckled.

"I'm hoping to buy a little more time that way," Grelle replied. She set her pen down in the inkwell and cracked her knuckles, stretching the joints in her hand, then massaging her elbow. "It'll take a few days for them to receive it, and another few for them to send it back and ask me to refile."

"I see."

Sebastian did not think a few days, or even a month, would do much good. She was so trusting, so unsuspicious, that he was certain he could go on picking souls off her registers, consuming them a day early, and returning home to bed her every night for the next several years. Who would have thought that such a relationship with a Shinigami would have more benefits than one? Grelle was none the wiser.

He placed his hands on her shoulders, massaged the stiff muscles, and she let out a sigh, closing her eyes for a moment before looking up at him.

"I may be a while yet," she said.

Sebastian just looked at her.

"You go ahead." A smile crossed her mouth, one that was merciful and pitying. "There's no reason for us both to stay up."

Sebastian did not want to sit in their room by himself. He had no interest in pretending to sleep or to be some kind of domesticated house demon. He was hungry. He wanted a soul.

Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to Grelle's forehead.

"Come soon," he said.

He could look at her registers as soon as she left in the morning, or perhaps before she left and after she had gone to sleep tonight. Grelle smiled at him.

"I will. I promise," she replied.

He returned the smile, and tried to catch a glimpse of the register she had on the desk as he turned to go, but Grelle leaned forward to go back to work and blocked his view. Sebastian pursed his lips. He supposed he would have to wait until tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

His catch was living on the other side of Thirsk, but it really was not so far to travel. Quite close to home in the scope of things. Sebastian was itching to get to the house all the same, smiling pleasantly at friends and neighbors in Felixkirk proper, running errands for Grelle—whom they all thought was named Mortimer and was his brother—all the while feeling about ready to rip someone's throat out. It used to be that he could wait years between souls, but his endurance had been worn down by the bounty recently come his way. Famine and hunger were harder after eating richly than they were after a meager meal. And Sebastian had eaten richly indeed.

He took all the requested groceries back to the house, fed the chickens, completed the portion of the projects waiting for him in the workshop as part of his front as a carpenter, then flew the property as fast as his legs would carry him. The gentleman was scheduled to die the next day at ten twenty-five, and it would be incredibly boorish to arrive late. It was two minutes after ten when he met the gate. Lifting the latch, Sebastian slipped inside the fence.

He could sense the beat of the man's soul, see its deep green aura, though the farmhouse was still some distance away, at the end of a dirt path that wound through field upon field of crops. The man was alone in the house, his wife having died and children moved to the city years ago according to Grelle's file. Sebastian had little interest in such trifles except for how they would affect the ease with which he would be able to eat.

When Sebastian came to the door, he knocked lightly, followed the pulse of the soul as it left the kitchen and wandered through the house, puzzling, and showing a puzzled expression on its face as the door opened and a stranger was found on the other side.

"I'm afraid I've lost my way," Sebastian said, smiling sheepishly. "My horse slipped a shoe several miles up the road. Yours is the first house I've come to. Do you know the way into town?"

"Certainly, certainly," the man said, stepping aside and gesturing with a warm arm for Sebastian to enter. "Come in. I have a couple maps you can have a right look at."

"Thank you."

"Certainly…"

The man showed Sebastian to a messy library, fiddled around with several books and loose pages before pulling out a map of the county, a map of his land, and finally a map of Thirsk. They were crudely drawn, hardly accurate though Sebastian supposed they were as accurate as humans could get. He smiled and nodded as he was given directions on how to get into town, where the best and cheapest blacksmith could reshod his horse when he got there.

"Thank you," he said again as the man went to put his maps away.

"Must be a right addled horse not to walk it down here with you," the man chuckled.

It was ten twenty-four.

As soon as the man turned around from the bookcase, Sebastian pressed a hand against his chest and the man gasped, the pallor draining from his skin. Sebastian smiled, pressing his hand harder, harder, until it slipped through the gentleman's skin, right into his chest. A wound like this would leave no trace, but that was the whole purpose of the method. Of course Shinigami had long since figured out that a soulless corpse without any injuries was certainly the work of a demon, so Sebastian made sure to give the man his appointed stroke before he began to drink his soul.

He breathed in deep, closing his eyes for a moment and letting the soul's flavor take over his senses as he absorbed it into his blood. The earthy taste of a farmer, the savory notes of someone who has beaten their wife. A light tone of Northern Englishman. No delicacy of course, but it did the job just fine.

The man choked—pathetic little gurgled sounds as he tried to draw air into his lungs or manage the pain. His eyes were locked with Sebastian's and open wide with shock. Tears had begun to form in them, to drip out the sides and cut lovely wet lines down his tanned cheeks. The sight made Sebastian smile again.

"Could have done with a little more corruption," he said.

The last wisps of the man's soul disappeared into Sebastian's blood and he drew in a breath to follow. Full now, he released his hold on the body and let it fall in a heap on the floor. Perfectly ordinary for the victim of a stroke, but where could his soul possibly have gone?

Where indeed.

He was sure to latch the gate as he left, touch nothing in the house. A Shinigami would be by tomorrow morning this same time and they would find this body as they had found eight others—apparently dead by its purported means and entirely devoid of any trace of a soul.

It was only a matter of time until Grelle discovered what he was up to, but in that time he intended to make the most of his circumstances.

* * *

Grelle had only just mailed off her official report with all the proper documentation when one of the secretaries who always worked the morning shift approached her, nervously clasping and unclasping his hands.

"What is it, Simmons?"

His mouth opened, but it took him a moment to eke out a response. "D-director Sutcliff, sir…your e-early warning system…"

Her heart beat once, sending a tingling wave of dread and excitement through her veins.

"Has it gone off?" she asked, stepping forward eagerly. She'd put together a series of additional shifts that had Shinigami monitoring souls from twenty-six hours before their scheduled collection. The souls always disappeared at exactly twenty-four hours before, so if someone or something was responsible, one of her staff was certain to catch it eventually. It had been weeks and this was the first time it had ever turned anything up.

"Yes, sir," Simmons answered. "But I don't think you're going to like what's been found…"


	3. Chapter 3

When Sebastian entered through the door that evening and called into the house that he had returned, as he usually did, Grelle did not respond, as _she_ usually did. Her soul was sensible, though. She was in the salon, she just didn't answer him.

He hung up his coat and scarf and took his time about it, making his way to the salon several minutes after he'd come through the door. Grelle was sitting with her legs crossed in the armchair next to the fireplace, the one that faced the archway, and though the house was cold she had not lit the hearth. The autumn sun was setting early, and in the dying light shining in through the windows, Grelle's eyes shone illuminated. And angry.

"Did you hear me?" Sebastian asked, pausing in the archway and smiling.

"Yes."

The word was a dagger expertly thrown. He knew she knew he could sense her, so she had deliberately ignored him. It hurt more than expected.

"Why didn't you answer?"

"Nine souls."

"Pardon me?"

Her eyes narrowed and she clicked her tongue in disgust. "Don't play dumb, Sebastian. It doesn't suit you."

They regarded each other for a moment. Her finding out had ultimately been inevitable. She was neither stupid nor naïve, though perhaps _he_ had been in thinking it would have taken her longer than this. The way she looked at him, it felt like… _hatred_. She'd never looked at him like that before, not in the five years they'd been together. He didn't like it.

"I'm sorry."

"HA!"

The tone was sharp, and he flinched back reflexively.

Grelle scoffed at him. "You're _sorry?_ It's too late for that, Sebastian. _Far_ too late. How could you do this? How could you?"

That seemed to him a stupid question. "I am a demon."

"So _what?_ " She laughed and it sounded foreign and furious. "I vouched for you. I said you wouldn't eat any souls unless you were under contract. I made myself personally responsible for your actions and what do you do? You stab me in the back."

"I never asked you to take responsibility."

"Never asked?—oh, Sebastian." She shook her head. "You have asked me to take responsibility every time you've taken me into your arms."

She was not wrong, he had to concede it. Their relationship demanded far more of Grelle than it ever had of him. Demons had no loyalties, no system, no code of honor to follow or uphold. If he chanced upon another of his kind the most repercussion that would pass upon him would be judgement. It did not harm a demon to keep a reaper in his house, but it was quite the opposite for the reverse. Grelle had everything to lose—her job, her integrity, her life. Shinigami had rules, regulations, standards, and Grelle broke all of them to be with him. What a foolish and dangerous thing to do. And he had betrayed her trust in spite of it. He didn't say anything sensible.

"You cannot expect me to go hungry."

"But my souls, Sebastian? _My_ souls?" She got up out of her seat, gestured emphatically at her heart. "I'm in _charge_ of the entire bloody Yorkshire division for god's sake and now a demon, who lives in _my_ house, is discovered to be the reason _nine_ souls are missing? Why? That's all I want to know."

He had to justify it somehow. "I have to _eat_ , Grelle."

"You think I don't know that? I've been working out a deal, Sebastian. But I'm sure that's all in the gutter now."

He started. "What?"

"Occasionally some souls are collected which orders from On High deem unworthy to continue existence. We've been finding rather a lot of those lately and I was trying to arrange it so that they could be given to you, but now neither of us can be trusted and I'll probably be out of a job very shortly."

No. No, that couldn't be true. She wouldn't do that for him. Perfectly corrupt souls that he wouldn't even have to work for? It was too good to be true. "You lie."

That wounded her—he could see it in her eyes. "How _dare_ you."

He wouldn't accept it. "I don't believe you."

"What's not to believe?!"

She threw up her hands and the gesture startled him, so he pulled a dinner knife from his coat and pitched it at Grelle—but she caught it. She caught it and turned it round in her hand and hurled it back at him. _Thwack—_ the blade stuck deep in his shoulder.

Sebastian blinked.

 _What?_

He should have been able to catch it, but her retaliation was entirely unexpected. Never, _never_ would he have guessed she would attack him. What stung most was that she had been expecting _him_ to do so. She'd caught the knife without hesitation or a hint of surprise. His mouth hung open a little as he stared at her. She looked back at him with fire and rage unyielding.

He didn't know what to say; he just pulled the blade from his shoulder and held his hand to the wound to staunch the flow of blood. Grelle swept out of the room. He followed.

"Where are you going?" It sounded harsher than he meant.

"Out."

"No."

His hand had barely extended to stop her—he couldn't let her leave, he couldn't let her go back to the Shinigami and tell them what he'd done—and he had barely touched her shoulder when she whirled on him, forcing him up against the wall and producing her chainsaw apparently from thin air. She pointed the blade of the Death Scythe at his throat. Her elbow dug into the wound in his shoulder.

"Remove your hand or lose it," she growled.

Obeying, Sebastian swallowed. The fire in her eyes… He had forgotten how strong she was. She could only stand to look at him for a fraction of a second longer before giving him a final shove and a scoff of disgust and heading for the door. He tried to step forward again but her eyes flashed as she looked back over her shoulder.

"Do _not_ underestimate me."

Sebastian had no choice but to watch as Grelle slammed the door behind her, the blood soaking through his clothing and staining his hand dark red.


	4. Chapter 4

The plaster on the ceiling above their bed held many shapes in its bumps and shadows. Sebastian lay alone, eyes tracking the outlines of things that did not truly exist outside of his perception. Grelle had gone far from him, so far that he could no longer sense the gentle beat of her soul. The heart of his house was gone. He couldn't be sure he would ever see her again.

Convincing the Dispatch Association to allow a demon to consume souls they wanted destroyed. It was mad. And genius. It was Grelle. She took care of him. She understood his needs far better than he had ever tried to understand hers. He'd taken what she offered him and crushed it in his hands. That was all he'd ever done. Take, give very little in return.

Even in the evening chill of autumn he was too hot. He'd come to rely on Grelle to be there beside him to cool him down. Now he had only the coldness of her empty place on the bed. He would not blame her if she did not return.

Her absence left a hollow in his heart larger than he had ever imagined.

He'd thought frequently as of late about what he might do without her—if she were to discover that he'd eaten souls from her To Die list and leave him for good. The only answer he'd found was a void. A gray nothing. He was right up against it now, and the sensation of helplessness was far more harrowing than it had been in contemplation.

He was a miserable, pathetic creature. What kind of demon needs another being to be content? What kind of demon desires to _be_ content? He was a disgrace in every way: both as a demon's demon and a reaper's demon. He had failed twice over.

More than anything he missed her selfishly. Only hours had passed since she'd gone and already he hurt to be held in her arms, to hold in return. He didn't want to apologize though he ought to prostrate himself at her feet and beg forgiveness. He just wanted her back. He needed her and he hated himself for it.

The grandfather clock ticked away downstairs, chimed every fifteen minutes and then rang for the hour. It was one when he sat up on the edge of the bed, miserably overwarm. He couldn't live like this. He had to find her.

Neglecting to take his coat or lock the door, Sebastian fled the house. A vague notion pulled him east and he grabbed hold of it, running at full speed before he realized where he was headed. Sutton Bank. He halted when he reached the bottom. Would she have come here? She ought to have gone to Dispatch where he would not be able to reach her, but he had cut her off from that. She could not return for she would have to face the consequences of his actions.

He picked his way carefully to the top of the bank, not sensing her yet. Hopelessness clawed at his heart. This was absurd. She could have been anywhere, why choose—

 _There!_

His body jolted, froze. He held his breath and shut his eyes and focused on that quiet beat, beat, beat to ensure he had not imagined it. The pulse stayed steady. Grelle. He opened his eyes. She was not far.

He followed the sensation through the heather and the trees, right along the edge of the escarpment until he saw her, still some distance off, tucked up under a pine on the ledge. She was sobbing. The wind carried the sound to his ears as he approached. Her shoulders' shivering was just distinguishable against the moonlight over the view of the valley in front of her. A stick snapped underfoot. Her head shot up but she did not look at him.

"Don't come near me."

He obeyed. "As you wish."

She wiped at her face with her hands and sleeves, sniffed fiercely and swallowed down the sobs still in her throat. Close enough then, Sebastian could see the tears that still streamed down her face though she was silent now. A moment later she spoke.

"Why are you here?"

"To find you."

"What for?"

She looked over and her eyes glinted, full of tears.

"I need you," he answered.

"So you're here for yourself."

"I…"

He was. God help him, he was. He had not come to comfort her or apologize. He had not come to see to her well-being or right the wrong which he had done. He had come because he could not stand to lie on top of his bed alone. He had come for himself.

She turned her face away, toward the moon. Tears streaked down her cheeks when she shut her eyes.

"Do you care about me at all?" she whispered. "Or do you just play along?"

Sebastian swallowed. Five years and what had he done for her? Five years and what did he know? Her favorite color? The world could have guessed at that and gotten it right. She had cared for him, given him her heart, and while she had never asked him to love her back, he suddenly felt very guilty for the last five years. She had risked everything, given everything, and he had taken it all for granted. He wasn't enough for her. It hurt. He wanted to be.

"I am a demon. I am selfish by nature. You have given yourself to me and I have used you. I see now that it was a mistake."

She put her face in her hands and cried. He ought to go over and comfort her, but the mere thought of the gesture felt empty. What comfort had he to offer? When had he ever cared for her as she had for him? She would take it as his desire for her, which it was, and she had ordered him to stay back, so for once he obeyed her will.

"I will atone for what I have done in any way the Shinigami decide," he said. "I will not let them hurt you."

" _You_ hurt me, Sebastian. Not them."

"I want to be for you what you are for me. I want to love you, Grelle."

"You're too late for that."

His heart dropped. "No. Don't say so."

She looked at her lap, whispered, "Please go."

"Are you coming home?"

"I don't know."

He couldn't bring himself to leave her there. Suddenly he had this tremendous desire to know everything there was to know about her, to hold her hand and look into her eyes and ask her questions and listen to the answers enraptured. He wanted to kiss her the way she wanted to be kissed, to be her companion. Suddenly he wished very badly to start all over.

Tromping through the heather and the brush, he made his way to her and stuck out his hand. The gesture startled her and she slipped out of her posture, tumbling a little ways away from him.

"Hello. I am Sebastian. That is not my name, but it is the name you call me, and I am yours. It used to belong to a dog. Why are you crying?"

She blinked at him, sniffed and wiped her nose. "What are you doing?"

"I am introducing myself. That is the custom when you first meet someone, is it not?"

One of her eyebrows rose slowly above the other and she stared at him, incredulous. It was an expression well-deserved.

"May I sit?"

She pursed her mouth. "I suppose."

Careful not to sit too close, he took an acquaintance's distance from her and lowered himself to the ground. Settled, he looked over and she wiped her eyes, sitting straight-backed and stiff, still wary.

"Someone has hurt you?"

"Yes."

"Someone close?"

"Yes."

"Why do you stay?"

"Because I love him."

"And he does not love you?"

"I don't think so, no."

"You ought to leave."

"I tried, and he followed me." The slightest smile passed over her lips but it faded. "I'm Grelle, by the way."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Grelle."

"Thank you."

Sebastian was quiet for a moment as he looked out over the valley with her. The moonlight made it harder to see the thousands of greens and yellows that stretched like patchwork for mile after mile, but they were all still there. Grelle had calmed, but this was by no means the end. Nothing was settled between them. He looked her way.

"Do you often sit on the Bank late at night?"

She shook her head. "No, this is a first."

"What is your favorite book?"

" _Wuthering Heights_."

"May I kiss you?"

"We've only just met."

He laughed and she smiled weakly so he smiled back. After a quiet moment, he reached out a hand to touch her face, but she turned her head from him and shielded herself with her shoulder. Too soon. He removed his hand.

"I have taken much from you, Grelle, which you have given freely, and I see that now. I am sorry. I am sorry to have betrayed that gift for nothing more than a meal. I do not deserve your love."

Her eyes closed. "And I'm a fool for loving you."

Grelle went quiet. Sebastian waited. Perhaps she would look his way, but several beats passed and she did not. There was nothing he could say now that would make her want to return with him. Even if there was, he could not have brought himself to speak. It would have been selfish. Scheming. He did not want to manipulate her any longer.

"I understand that you must need time on your own to discover what is best for you," he said, standing up. "I will not ask you to come home, but I _will_ wait for you. As long as it takes. And I will claim full responsibility for what I have done. Anything the Shinigami decide."

"I'll tell them."

"Thank you."

Her eyes were glued forward, away from him over the valley. It was not a time to kiss her though he wanted to. How strange to know someone on such intimate terms and yet not know them at all. He started to go.

"Take as long as you need," he said.

Grelle nodded and he left her perched upon the edge of the bank, one thousand dried tears on her cheeks and one thousand problems to sort, every one of them beginning with him.


	5. Chapter 5

Stupid Ronald and his stupid face were waiting for her when she came through the doors of the Yorkshire Branch the following morning. Now that Sebastian was the known culprit, the London office must have sent him to oversee the board which had formed to resolve the missing souls issue. She could hardly blame them. She'd screwed up. Again. Ronald grinned at her.

"Trouble in paradise?" he trilled.

As she passed him, she snatched his tie, yanked him forward, punched him square in the mouth, and kept walking.

Surprised, Ronald stumbled. Why was everyone so shocked by her aggression lately? He lifted a hand to his bleeding lip. "Jeeze," he whined, "what was _that_ for?"

Grelle had reached her office. She paused at the door and looked over her shoulder at him with an expression of cold fire. He knew _exactly_ what that was for. Little twit. She opened the door and went inside, leaving it open for Ronald who would come in even if she shut it. He would be unavoidable in his position of power. That is, assuming he _was_ actually there to take over the board. Grelle went to her desk and sat down, and sure enough, Ronald followed her into the office. She busied herself with paperwork.

"All right, fair enough," he said. "I shouldn't have said anything."

She just flashed her eyes up at him in response. He closed the door.

"You can guess why I'm here."

Of course she could. She didn't look up, scratched some notes away on a file. "To oversee the board now that I'm compromised, yes."

Ronald asked, "And you're okay with me?"

"There are worse choices."

He chuckled, removing his jacket and laying it over the back of one of the chairs in front of her desk before taking a seat in the other. "Good to see you too, old man." He sat back and crossed his legs, smiled at her.

Grelle couldn't find it in her heart to smile back.

Ronald glanced around the office, eventually settling his gaze on Grelle. "You seem to be handling the news pretty well."

 _Sebastian_. "Do I?"

Her heart wrenched and her voice betrayed her, trembling as she spoke, and that tremble was enough to unleash the buildup of tears she'd been keeping back since last night. The horror and the heartbreak overtook her in a storm and before she knew it she was sobbing all over again, her face in her hands, her elbows propped up on her desk.

Ronald was on his feet in seconds. "Jeeze. I'm sorry." His tone was genuine. "I didn't think you cared so much about him."

She could only shake her head. He put his hand on her shoulder and didn't say anything.

After a moment and swallowing down tears, Grelle found her voice. "I _love_ him, Ronald. _Still_. Even after everything he's done to me. And I _hate_ myself for it." She wiped her eyes. "I hate him for it, too."

"I don't blame you."

She looked up at him. "What? No smart-mouth comment about how I got what I deserved?" she asked with a self-deprecating laugh.

Ronald shrugged. "Well, I won't say I've ever understood your obsession with him, but you don't deserve _this_ , Grelle. You of all people deserve to be happy."

She stared at him, searched his eyes, but he wasn't lying. He looked back at her and smiled, raising his eyebrows.

"What? Did you think I didn't care about you? Come on. You know me better than that." He gave her a playful nudge and that earned him a small smile.

"I'm glad it's you, Ronald," she said.

"Me too."

Smiling, he returned to his seat, sitting back and getting cozy, propping his ankle up on the opposite knee. Down to business.

"I'm legally obligated to inform you that your retention of your position as head of the Yorkshire Branch is dependent on the Board's review of your handling this situation in the coming weeks."

"Really?" That was a surprise. "They're not just going to force my resignation outright?"

Ronald shrugged. "The vote was four to five in favor of giving you a chance."

Grelle nodded. That made a little more sense. She'd need to do better, though, if she wanted to keep her job. So far her "handling this situation" was not exactly up to scratch. Still, if they'd voted to retain her, even if only for a little while longer, it must have meant she was doing _something_ right.

"Any ideas on what to do?" Ronald asked.

She shook her head.

"The Board will want to punish him."

"I know. He's agreed to go through with whatever they decide."

Ronald perked up. "You've spoken with Sebastian?"

Grelle looked down. "Oh—um, yes. He knows that I know. I confronted him about it yesterday."

"And how did that go?"

She shook her head. "Not well."

Raising his eyebrows, Ronald made a tell-me-more face, so she continued, "He threw a dinner knife at me and missed, so I threw it at him and didn't."

Her companion let out a low whistle and then chuckled darkly. "Well done."

Grelle sighed, shaking her head and attempting to dislodge the tears that had formed in her eyes. "I don't know what to think anymore, Ronald. Things seemed to be going so _well_ , and now this."

"It _does_ put a damper on a relationship."

A sharp, sardonic laugh escaped her lips. "What relationship?"

He cocked his head. "What do you mean?"

"It's difficult to explain… I suppose I just never noticed before and this whole situation brought it to light."

"Brought what to light?"

"The fact that our relationship is completely one-sided."

He gestured at her. "Go on."

Grelle sighed. "I love him, he doesn't love me. I worry about him, he doesn't worry about me. I know everything there is to know about him and he knows absolutely nothing about me. Oh—here's a good example: the other day I come home and he asks me where my Death Scythe is, so I tell him it's at Dispatch, and he asks why, and I have to explain that we only check them out when we need them and store them there. Five years. I've lived with him for _five years_ and he doesn't know that."

"Huh."

"And it's like that with everything only I never noticed until now. He's just been tolerating me so he can get what he wants."

She'd done a lot of thinking last night on the Moors.

Ronald made a face. "And you live like that?"

She shook her head. "I don't. I mean, I _do_ , but—it's not enough for me anymore. He says he wants to love me now, but I don't know if I believe him."

Ronald touched his fingers together into a point and rested them against his mouth, puzzling. Grelle had nothing more to say. It was as much as she could put into words. _How_ had she not noticed it before? How could she have been so blind?

After a moment, Ronald looked up. "I guess you'll have to decide that for yourself. What will you do in the meantime?"

She snorted. "I'm not going home if that's what you mean."

Nodding, he conceded the point. "Fair enough."

Grelle let out a frustrated breath of air and put her face in her hands once more. What _was_ she going to do in the meantime? She couldn't bear to see Sebastian again. If she did, she would probably bend to him and his will, like she'd been bending for the past five years, like she nearly had last night. She needed to break the hold he had over her and that would be impossible if she was near him.

"Are you ready to meet with the board?" Ronald asked.

She sat back and looked at him, shaking her head. "As ready as I'll ever be."


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's Note: Ask and ye shall receive. ;)_

* * *

 _Wuthering Heights_ was a strange book indeed. Sebastian had discovered Grelle's worn copy of the novel while he'd gone over her study to clean and dust. He didn't know when she'd come back to the house to retrieve her Shinigami documents—or if _she_ had come at all—but every bit of sensitive information had been scrubbed from the place. Grelle's aura, however, remained.

Her usual coolness still swept off her empty place on the bed beside him. The clothing in her dresser smelled so strongly of her. Flowers still sat in that vase on the kitchen table. Her umbrella was still propped up next to the door. The scent of rosewater lingered in the bathroom, the scent of mint from the herb box under the front window. No matter where he went, he could not escape her. But now, he was not certain that he wanted to.

Sebastian had never cleaned Grelle's study before. She liked it messy, finding order somehow in the absolute chaos. But she was gone now, and as she showed no signs of returning, Sebastian took it upon himself to straighten up in her absence. He would tell their neighbors that Mortimer had gone away for a time—perhaps to France. Perhaps to London. He would tell them that his dear brother had taken a trip and it was uncertain when he would return. Simple humans as they were, they would believe him. They would not know the truth, or how Sebastian suffered, in love with Grelle now and without her. He'd found _Wuthering Heights_ only ten minutes into his cleaning and had been reading it ever since, dust and disheveled papers completely neglected.

When he next looked up from the pages, the sun had just disappeared over the horizon. Stars were winking out of the night sky. Catherine had been haunting Heathcliff every night for eighteen years. Sebastian had read all day.

Someone was knocking on the front door.

"Mr. Lumley?" The voice was small and worried. "Mr. Lumley, are you at home?"

Rising, Sebastian went to the door and found on the other side the young man who sometimes helped him in his carpenter's shop. Of course, Sebastian did not actually require help at all, but the boy was skilled and in need of a job and Grelle had insisted. In reality he'd only slowed Sebastian down. With a human watching he'd been forced to work at a human pace, but that was nothing new. For the life of him, Sebastian couldn't remember the young man's name.

"Mrs. Musgrave says you never delivered the table that was due her this afternoon, sir," he said, frowning up at Sebastian. "Is everything all right?"

Sebastian just stared at him. Everything was not all right. He'd driven Grelle away—out of pure selfishness and greed. He had hurt her, and in doing so had hurt himself. He had not expected that.

"Mr. Lumley?"

"Oh." Blinking, Sebastian came to attention. "I beg your pardon, Charlie." Was that his name? Charlie? The young man didn't react like it _wasn't_ his name. "My brother was called away this morning unexpectedly, so I've been setting the house in order and lost track of time."

"It's no trouble, sir. I'll take it to her now if you'll lend me the shop key?"

"Of course. I'll go with you."

Sebastian needed something to distract his mind from Grelle, but even spending an hour finishing up Mrs. Musgrove's end table with Charlie and carrying it into town himself for the delivery was not enough. As Charlie reached up to knock on Mrs. Musgrove's door, he glanced at Sebastian.

"Where did Mr. Lumley go, sir, if you don't mind my asking?"

"London," Sebastian replied.

"Will he be gone long?"

"I don't know."

Mrs. Musgrove opened the door and there was lots of fanfare, lots of hugging and kissing Charlie on the cheek and shaking Sebastian's hand and praising the find craftsmanship of the new end table. The woman set it up in her sitting room right away, paid Sebastian, and Sebastian gave the money to Charlie as they left.

"I have no use for it," he replied when Charlie tried to hand it back. "Come early tomorrow morning, if you're able. We'll get to work on the rest of those orders."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"Until tomorrow."

Charlie tipped his hat and hurried home. Sebastian turned the opposite direction and started down the road, through the absolute dark of the Moors countryside at night. The sooner the sun rose, the better. The sooner he had Charlie to distract him—even if only a little—the better. Sebastian had a feeling Grelle would haunt him that night like Catherine had haunted Heathcliff.

* * *

Moonlight was filtering in through the wispy curtains drawn over the open bedroom window. The air was still, heavy like it was in summer. Grelle was sitting on the edge of the bed and Sebastian was behind her, running his fingers across her neck and through her hair, pressing kisses to her bare shoulder blades and the backs of her hands. He was warm, his lips were fire, and he whispered to her, words she could not understand. When she saw his hands next they were red and bleeding, holding strips of film that they tried to wrap around her throat.

Grelle woke with a start, and because she'd fallen asleep with her head on her desk, the jolt knocked a kink into her neck that instantly shot pain down her back.

" _Bugger_ ," she hissed through her teeth, raising a hand to the knotted muscle to massage it. She couldn't quite lift her head up all the way, but she should still see Ronald's feet propped up on the desk as well. The rest of him was seated in a chair she couldn't see.

"Careful, there," he said.

"Ah, damn it all…"

"The dangers of falling asleep at one's work."

Ronald was grinning at her when she finally worked the kink out and could lift her head. He was probably trying to lighten the mood, but Grelle did not feel like being lightened. They'd spent all day in meetings with her board, the general board, the entire Yorkshire division, and all of her senior Shinigami, during every single one of which she'd been forced to sit silent and accept the berating that came her way. Frankly, she felt she deserved it. She'd trusted a demon. Souls had been taken. This _was_ her fault. She had more than earned their ire this time.

Unfortunately not one conclusion had been drawn about what Dispatch ought to do. In the meantime, she still had the regular running of the Yorkshire Branch to manage. Before she'd fallen asleep, she'd been putting together soul register assignments. Ronald was sorting through all of the suggestions from staff about the missing souls situation. He'd separated them into two piles—one on the desk and one on the chair beside him.

"How's _that_ coming?" she asked, picking up a pen but finding that her hand hurt so badly that she had to set it down immediately.

"Honestly? I think you should prepare yourself for the worst."

Grelle swallowed. But what would be worst? Permanent suspension? Being stripped of her titles and her Death Scythe and sent to work in another division?

"A lot of these call for Sebastian's execution."

 _Gods._

Grelle very nearly fell out of her chair. " _What?_ "

Ronald nodded grimly. "This pile on the chair here. All votes against him."

But that pile had to be _at least_ as big as the one on the desk. Somewhere around fifty percent of the suggestions wanted Sebastian _dead?_ Thankfully with Shinigami it wasn't always majority rule. The higher ups would make the ultimate decision—but they would be sure to pay heavy heed to the majority. Grelle was more distressed by the information than she had hoped or expected to be.

"Do you think it will really come down to that?" she asked.

Ronald shrugged. "It's hard to say." He sorted another two papers into the chair pile. "But we'll be fighting an uphill battle."


	7. Chapter 7

Every branch of the English Division of the Shinigami Dispatch Association had a door, and without exception that door was located underground, and without exception that door was at the end of a long, white hallway. Without exception, that door led to the board. It was there that Grelle was summoned the following morning the instant she had woken up.

"Director Sutcliff…a note for you, sir."

Grelle had hardly cracked open the door to her office—now also her bedroom—before that secretary Simmons was shoving a piece of paper at her. He looked very eager to be on his way and rid of the damned thing. Grelle reached out to take it and Simmons's eyes flicked almost imperceptibly at the space above her head. The space where her hair was currently sticking up from a night spent asleep on the floor.

"Is that all, Simmons?" she growled, embarrassed but fighting the flush out of her cheeks. God damn that demon. It was only after giving in to him that she had ever started to feel embarrassed.

"Y-yes, sir. That is—there's more, sir, but Mr. Knox has been instructed to address all current matters until your return."

"Very good, Simmons."

Grelle shut the door. Simmons's footsteps echoed swiftly down the hall. She slumped against the wood, turning the note over in her hands. It had really only been a matter of time.

Disciplinary hearings were nothing new to Grelle, of course. She'd been summoned down to see the board for a scolding on the regular since becoming a Shinigami. Since Sebastian, she'd been more careful to avoid their wrath, to follow the rules, to be obedient and not kill anybody she wasn't supposed to. She hadn't wanted to jeopardize him, give them any reason to suspect he was the cause of any trouble. That rule-following had gotten her promoted, and now here she was, with Sebastian the exact cause of all the troubles. Gods she wanted to strangle him. Then the image of his blood-covered hands wrapping a Cinematic Record around her neck to do just that to _her_ flashed across her mind and Grelle lost a little of her nerve. She made sure her hair was neat before going down to meet the board.

The room held that same vast, black emptiness that it always had—the dark ceiling that seemed to stretch into eternity if one could only see it. The same large judge's bench. The same invisible Shinigami in the shadows. The door closed behind her as she stepped into the light before the bench. Coming down to meet the board had never made her tremble before. A voice spoke.

"Grelle Sutcliff, Director of the Yorkshire Branch of the English Division of the Shinigami Dispatch Association."

Grelle bobbed her head, swallowing. "Yes."

"Consort of a demon."

She swallowed harder. "Yes."

The air shifted like the Shinigami who had spoken was leaning back in their seat. A moment of quiet observation passed wherein Grelle could feel every pair of eyes on her. She turned her own to the ground.

"It has been brought to our attention that much of the branch feels the demon ought to pay for its crimes with its life," a different voice said. "You understand their ire."

"I do."

Of course she did. Nobody felt that ire more keenly than she. Nobody burned a hotter, more furious red. Nobody wanted to punish Sebastian like she did. But then, nobody loved him like she did either.

She felt as though she might get torn in two.

"Mr. Knox has finished processing all staff suggestions. Fifty-one percent call for the extermination of the demon."

She nodded. She had expected that. Of course, it didn't stop her heart from pulling and it didn't stop a nervous, painful breath from slipping out of her lungs.

"You care for him still." The phrase was almost a question—an observation peppered with uncomprehending surprise.

"I do."

"Even after all he's done?" That one _was_ a question through and through.

"I cannot explain it," Grelle said, shaking her head this time, "and I make no apology for my feelings, I only assure the board that I will not attempt to interfere with whatever action is deemed to be taken. I understand the gravity of this situation, I assure you, and I will cooperate."

"Cooperation has never been one of your particular virtues, Grelle Sutcliff."

She scoffed. "Nor has mercy ever been one of yours."

A hissing whisper passed around the board, slipping through the darkness, and Grelle bit her tongue. She couldn't afford to be loose anymore, not when Sebastian's life could depend on how she conducted herself here.

"I apologize and redact my statement."

The gazes she could feel on her turned angry.

"You have given us very little cause to trust you, Director Sutcliff. It is because of you that these souls are missing in the first place."

"Sebastian—"

"The demon has little to do with it! Will not a dog eat when food is placed in front of it? Will not an animal drink when there is water? _You_ provided the food and _you_ provided the water, Director Sutcliff. Make no mistake. Vile as demons are, one cannot attribute their behavior to anything more than instinct."

Gods, they were right, but she didn't want to face it. What a fool she'd been to trust a demon. What a fool to offer him her heart. What had she expected? Love? Companionship? Grelle gritted her teeth. Leaving her documents out for him to see. She was a _fool_.

"I maintain my promise of cooperation," she said. Somehow her voice came out steady though inside she was ready to fall to her knees.

"That is well, for we will need it."

She turned her eyes to the darkness above the bench before her. The tone in that voice. They were planning something.

"A peculiar suggestion came through the data collected by Mr. Knox," the voice continued. "One that has caused a great deal of speculation."

"And what suggestion is that?"

"Experimentation, Director Sutcliff."

Grelle's breath stuck in her throat. They couldn't mean…

"In spite of all our technological advances, and in spite of having dealt with their infestation since our dawning, we still understand relatively little about demons. Their physiognomy. What makes them…tick."

They did. They wanted Sebastian. To pick him apart, and put him back together just to pick him apart again. Her heart pounded in her head and her chest. They wanted to study him.

"Tell me, Director Sutcliff. Do demons have souls?"

Grelle's hands were shaking. The edges of her vision continued to blur. No. _No_. She couldn't let them take him. She couldn't let them turn him into a lab rat. But there was nothing she could do. She had already promised to do what they said. Grelle couldn't speak around the heart-sized lump in her throat.

"We require you to obtain the demon's full cooperation."

He had already given it. God damn him, he had _already given it_.

"And also place you on the team that will design each of the studies."

That stung. Grelle bit the inside of her bottom lip. "To what purpose?" she spat.

"There is hardly another reaper in heaven or hell more familiar with the workings of a demon than yourself," they replied. "Did you not go home to bed one every night?"

Her cheeks burned hot. She turned her face away.

"Besides, you need to suffer for what has been done yourself."

Grelle's mouth went dry. She couldn't swallow and the lump was only growing bigger. Of course. What better way to rebuke her than to force her to harm the person she loved most, than to make her give in to that darker side of her already dark nature? There couldn't have been a more potent punishment. She found herself nodding, blinking away the tears in her eyes.

"You have my word," she whispered.

"Then you are dismissed."

* * *

Charlie was a remarkably agreeable young fellow. Sebastian had never quite noticed before. He tittered away in the workshop, going on about the trite workings of Thirsk and the local gossip of the town, all with a bright, flushed face and a grin, sawdust and wood shavings floating through the air around him. Naturally Sebastian wanted to rip his soul right out of him.

He'd been fighting the urge all morning, calming the furious burning of his eyes and the rapid beating of his heart, the pulsing in his head that told him to sink his teeth into the boy's throat and devour him limb from limb, drink his soul and his blood all at once.

Sebastian's instincts knew the supply of food was now cut off. His indulgences screamed at him to humor them. Eat without fear of the consequences. Let yourself be a _true_ demon. More than once, Charlie had commented on the strangeness of the cloud cover when Sebastian's shadows had momentarily blocked out the light from the sun through the window.

Eventually, the drive became too powerful and Sebastian sent Charlie away, promising a full day's wages regardless. Charlie was hesitant, seeming to sense that something was wrong, but one firm look from Sebastian had him tipping his hat and hurrying out the door. He couldn't have gotten away soon enough.

Sebastian paced the house.

Sebastian paced the property.

Sebastian paced the woods.

He paced himself all the way through the moors to Rievaulx Abbey. The ruins were empty. Late season, evening approaching, and heavy rainclouds hurrying the disappearance of the sun. Thunder rumbled overhead as he made his approach to the skeleton of the church.

His hunger had abated into a rumbling far duller than the thunder. He would never eat again if it meant Grelle would come back to him.

He ascended the ruins of the stone steps to enter the looming, white ruins of the church. Church was hardly the word for it. Cathedral might have fit better though it was not quite that large. Arches and columns soared above him, windowless now, what once would have been a stone-floored transept now covered with grass. The rain began to fall.

How strange to think that humans built such structures to worship a god they knew so little about. Monks had constructed this abbey—men who had devoted their entire lives to serving a being they could not comprehend. How beautiful humans were. How beautiful the reapers who cared for their souls.

Sebastian stood in the ruins until the rain had soaked his clothes and he was shivering. Until he was so cold he could no longer hold a human form. Until he was just a black figure surrounded by shadows in a holy building that was no longer holy.


	8. Chapter 8

A month passed before Sebastian saw her again. A month of making pointless furniture and trying so desperately not to eat Charlie's soul. A month of frenzied walks through the Moors, up and down the crags and hills, all the way to the coast sometimes, where he would stand on the cliffs and look out at the sea and wonder if he threw himself into it how long it would take to sink to the bottom. A month of reading and rereading _Wuthering Heights_.

He had become so certain over that month that he would never see Grelle again, that he had taken to cataloging each of the objects in their house that had once belonged to her. It was the only means he had to reacquaint himself with her, to understand the creature with whom he lived. Or _had_ lived. Even in verb he struggled to fully locate her in the past.

Then her soul entered his radius. His heart stopped. At once, Sebastian found himself outside—he'd been running—and he tumbled into the fence that surrounded the house. Now his heart beat fast. Grelle. She was coming. Grelle was finally coming.

He exulted, flying back into the house, pacing the rooms, making every worn piece of wood in the damned building creak in a loud chorus under his feet, all the while sensing that pulse as she approached. He knew it was her. No one else had a soul that deliciously red. His mind filled with her. How magnificent it would be to see her, hear her, smell her after so long.

The thought gave him pause. It had been only a month, but it had passed for him as any century.

Grelle reached the gate. She was not alone, though Sebastian hardly noticed their souls. She entered the yard. Sebastian opened the door before she had a chance to knock.

And there she was, on the front step, right where she belonged.

His heart dropped into his feet. She was so breathtaking. That hair, those eyes. His memory of her was so dull in comparison. He couldn't fathom when or how she had become so _beautiful_.

She entered in silence and her Shinigami, Ronald among them, followed, passing him with wary glances. Grelle led them to the salon. Sebastian trailed after. Once he'd entered the room, the reapers formed a ring around him though they kept their distance. Grelle stood at the hearth. She didn't look at him. _This is your house, too_ , he wanted to say. _These are your things. I know you now_. His throat was tight. He could not remove his gaze from her face.

Finally, Grelle raised her eyes. "Do you abide by the word you gave that you would submit to any punishment the Shinigami Dispatch Association should decide?"

"I do," he whispered, still drinking in the sound of her voice.

"Let the record show that an agreement has been made in front of witnesses." Her eyes held such calm indifference, but Sebastian knew her better than that. He understood her better. He had curled up beside her countless nights, blindly unaware of what kind of creature shared his bed, but he had changed. She was no more indifferent now than he was. "I will state the terms of your punishment."

Sebastian nodded.

"You will report to the Yorkshire Branch of the Shinigami Dispatch Association tomorrow at noon. You will file all necessary paperwork. You will submit yourself as a research subject and enter the lab for an undisclosed length of time. You will submit yourself, without word or retaliation—immediate or future—to the tests outlined in this packet."

She gestured to one of the Shinigami attendants and he stepped forward, holding a folder filled with papers which he offered to Sebastian. Sebastian took it.

"Do you understand?"

What was there to understand? He looked at the file, thick and white. He understood how much the Shinigami worshipped their paperwork. He understood what their findings could mean for demons. He understood that they would not hesitate to inflict any and every sort of pain upon him, perhaps even resulting in his death. He understood all of that. What he did not understand was Grelle. He looked up from the file.

"Why did you come?"

" _Do_ you understand the terms of the agreement?"

"Why did you come, Grelle?"

She faltered. They were on familiar terms, the two of them, no matter how above it all she pretended to be.

"Because I had to," she replied.

Sebastian nodded. That was enough for him.

"I will come at noon."

The Shinigami started out of the room, neat and organized in their departure. Grelle tried to follow, sweeping by Sebastian, but he caught her hand and pulled her to a halt.

"Please stay," he whispered, unable to meet her eyes.

Grelle drew in a breath. "Not yet."

Her hand slipped out of his grasp, then, and he looked up. She moved so quickly down the hall, he barely had the time to reach the door as she shut it in his face. Sebastian fell forward ever so slightly, leaning against the wood. He shut his eyes. Her afterimage burned in the darkness.

* * *

Grelle didn't let out her breath until she was well over the hill. Gods, what had she been thinking? Her hands shook. Her _whole body_ shook. She doubled over, trembling hands on her trembling knees, and drew in breath after breath that didn't seem to bring her any oxygen.

She was still in love with him.

"Hey. You okay?" Ronald paused beside her to put a hand on her shoulder. "That couldn't have been easy."

Grelle shook her head. "I wasn't ready, Ronald."

Gods, the way he'd _looked_ at her—straight into her soul, pleading, begging. It had taken everything she had to keep her composure.

"You made it through."

She swallowed. Her heart was beating so fast it hurt. She'd distanced herself from Sebastian over the last month, reconstructing memories, learning to loathe him for what he'd done, and she'd thought she succeeded. But she was wrong.

Damn it all, she was _still_ in love with him.

"I don't know what to think anymore, Ronald," she said softly, rising. The others had moved far ahead of them now, returning to Dispatch.

Ronald shook his head. "He agreed at least. To the tests."

Grelle gritted her teeth. "And he's a sodden, bloody fool."

* * *

 _Author's Note: All right, all right. You talked me into it. ;)_


	9. Chapter 9

In reality, Sebastian required nothing, but under the notion of pretense he packed a small carpet bag, gave Charlie the shop key, locked up the cottage, and started the long walk from Felixkirk to York. Once he was out of town, he moved quickly. Had he walked a human's pace, it would have taken him nearly nine hours to get there.

But Sebastian was so far from human.

He contemplated this as he passed over hill and valley—his lack of humanity, Grelle's former. How was it that they had come together? What had he experienced that had made him stay? For all intents and purposes they were a poorly suited couple. Or at least they _had_ been. Sebastian wasn't quite sure he was the same being any longer. The question became whether Grelle would have him in his new form, or if the old one had pushed her too far away.

Slowing as he reached the outskirts of York, Sebastian took on a more leisurely pace so as not to attract attention to himself. He made his way swiftly to the city center, weaving through the narrow streets of shops in the Shambles until he reached the building that held the Dispatch Associations offices. From the outside it looked like any other shop, but he ducked down the alley on its left and knocked on a door at the back near the courtyard.

"Customer entrance is up front," a voice said from the other side.

"My name is Sebastian Michaelis," he replied. "I was instructed to report at twelve o'clock."

The door snapped open, a Shinigami reached out and snatched him inside, and the door slammed shut. The entrance opened into an expansive hallway, well-lit, carpeted and with white walls. There was something odd about the way the inside of the Dispatch building looked. Like it didn't belong to the appropriate era or fit into the outer architecture. Sebastian puzzled over this as the Shinigami called for back-up and the three others who attended helped to put Sebastian in a set of complicated restraints.

"I'll…um…take your luggage," one of them said, offering an open hand.

Sebastian passed him his carpet bag. "Thank you."

They fixed a sort of tether to the chain of the restraints and led him down the hallway like a dog on a leash. Every Shinigami they passed froze, stunned, to watch him as he went. Whispers sprouted in his wake. He didn't mind—let them stare. The glare of the long, white lights over his head, however, was surprisingly irritating.

They wove their way through an impossible labyrinth of hallways and offices and descended several stories before arriving at a door. One Shinigami broke away to unlock and open it.

"In here," he said and gestured with his head for Sebastian to enter.

As he was to submit and obey, Sebastian stepped inside. In a fluid motion, the Shinigami holding his tether slipped his restraints free and swept out the door. It shut, disappearing completely into the wall with only a small crack around its outer edge to indicate its existence. A lock clicked. The room was white, and empty save for a strange silver fixture on the opposite wall.

"You will remove your clothing and wash yourself," a voice said, coming out of a box at the top of one corner of the room. Sebastian hadn't noticed it before, and the sound made him jump. "A member of Dispatch will be back to retrieve you in ten minutes."

At the far side of the room, liquid began to flow from the silver fixture. Sebastian might have guessed that it was water, but the acidic smell suggested otherwise. Gritting his teeth, Sebastian shed his jacket.

* * *

Chewing anxiously on the inside of her bottom lip, Grelle sat in the observation center and waited for someone to bring her an update. It was well past noon. Had Sebastian come? Had he gone running to the other side of the world? She wasn't to leave the room without permission in order to keep an eye on the equipment, so she was at the mercy of Simmons and his damned slow information relay.

The observation center was dark, lit only by the dim, red glow of a standing light in one corner. In the middle was a large desk, spread with papers and pens and everything needed to record data. At the back of the room was a door, and at the front was a one-way mirror. Beyond the one-way mirror was the experimentation chamber. Grelle hadn't been able to look at it since she'd come in.

Someone knocked on the door and she practically jumped out of her skin.

"Come in!" she shouted, a little aggressively.

Rather than Simmons, it was Ronald who poked his head through the door.

"He came," he said.

Grelle released a tight breath.

"They've been prepping him," he said, coming in. Oddly he was carrying one of Grelle's old carpet bags and a pile of clothing. "The rest of the observation team should be in any minute."

"And then what?"

"And then it'll start, I guess," he said. "Oh…these are his things. They didn't know what to do with them, so I said I'd bring them to you." Ronald set the carpet bag on the floor at her feet and held out the clothes.

Grelle took them and, gods, the smell of him! She had missed it. Her heart twisting, she nearly lifted the fabric to her nose to breathe in Sebastian's scent. By the end of this, that might be all she'd have left of him.

Ronald said something about collecting the rest of the observation team, but Grelle didn't hear him. She was alone. Curious about the carpet bag, she opened it up. Her throat tied into a knot.

Sitting on top of everything else in the bag was her worn copy of _Wuthering Heights_.

Ronald didn't know when he came back the second time, and Grelle only just managed to wipe away her tears before the other Shinigami came in and took their seats.


	10. Chapter 10

Sebastian was dry by the time the Shinigami returned ten minutes following, having only been able to stand the harsh burning of whatever liquid had come from the spout for several seconds at a time. He'd tolerated it just long enough to wet his whole body, then stood in the center of the room, dripping, until they'd come for him.

"This way," one said and gestured for Sebastian to step into the hall.

They led him a short distance to another innocuous door and beyond, into a room only slightly less white than the last. A team of Shinigami in white clothing with white aprons and white masks on their faces stood round a metal table. They turned their glowing green eyes on him as soon as he entered. The wall opposite the door was covered in shelving and shining silver tools. Adjacent to that was a wall with a mirror built in.

Sebastian's own distorted reflection looked back at him, though he was certain observers lay just beyond the glass. Strangely, something kept him from being able to sense their souls.

One of the Shinigami in the room waved him toward the table.

"Just here, please," he said.

Sebastian did as asked, lying down on the cold metal of the table and allowing them to clamp his wrists and ankles to it with heavy cuffs as the politeness of that "please" played round and round in his mind. Even in their brutality, the Shinigami held their manners.

"We'll begin."

As Sebastian expected, when the Shinigami gathered around the table, they left the side that faced the mirror open, so those beyond it would have a clear view. He did not expect, however, the sharp, searing pain that accompanied one of the Shinigami taking an intricate knife to his shoulder joint and slicing all the way to his sternum. He might have fought back out of instinct, but his arms and legs were secured to the table.

As it was, he was forced to endure it.

They made a second incision from his opposite shoulder to the same place at his sternum, then from his sternum down through his stomach. Whatever blade they were using felt remarkably similar to a Death Scythe. As well-fed as Sebastian had been recently, the cuts healed, though it took longer than if they had been made with an ordinary blade. Once the wounds had closed, the Shinigami sliced again.

This time, they did not wait for the wounds to close.

This time, they started to dissect him.

* * *

It was awful. Grelle had not imagined that anything could _be_ so awful, and she wasn't one to go squeamish at gore. She relished in it, as a matter of fact, but the scientific precision of the examination team as they repeatedly cut into Sebastian to take him apart was beyond even her. They had to continuously start over as his wounds closed up. It only made watching more agonizing, made seeing Sebastian's arms as they reflexively strained against their cuffs more painful. Grelle had her fingers wrapped in a death grip around the arms of her chair, her teeth clenched. Her jaw ached and her whole body trembled with the tenseness of her muscles, but she couldn't look away. She had to watch. If she didn't, that would only make it worse.

Several hours passed before the examination team wore Sebastian's healing ability down to a workable level. Today was meant to be preliminary, just a jumping off point, but it had turned into torture very quickly—though perhaps not out of intention. By the time the team was finished, Sebastian lay still, his breathing shallow, his eyes shut, the wounds across his chest and abdomen refusing to seal. The team had put him back together, but he still looked absolutely broken. All around her in the observation area, other Shinigami hummed and hawed.

Ronald put his hand on her hand. She jolted, looking at him only when the examination team had started to file from the opposite room and it was safe for her to do so.

"Grelle."

Her bottom lip trembled. Tears filled her eyes and spilled over. She started to shake, a terrified and helpless feeling, like a rabbit cornered in its own den by a fox. All she could do to respond was shiver.

"Grelle, I'm so sorry, I had no idea…"

Grelle shook her head, and it was violent—she couldn't control it. "No…no," she said and her voice came out small and distant. "I did. I knew. I knew what they would do to him and I let him come. Like a lamb to the slaughter."

"They won't kill him, Grelle."

She locked her eyes with Ronald's. "Not yet."

He seemed to sense that it was useless to argue with her, even to offer comfort. Giving her hand a squeeze, he stood, stretched and slowly left the room. The others filed out as well, but Grelle stayed. She stayed and stared at Sebastian through the mirror glass, watching the microscopic progress of his cuts as they healed.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so, so sorry."


	11. Chapter 11

They came for him again the following morning. Sebastian only spared enough energy to glance in the direction of the door as it opened to admit that same crew of six white-masked Shinigami. He'd spent all night restrained atop the metal table. It had been cold, but the heat from his body had warmed it. Already he could feel that heat weakening.

"We'll begin," that same Shinigami said, and they all retrieved their tools.

This time, they collected his blood—slicing into arteries and inserting tubes. They seemed particularly interested in the way the blood ran red at first, then darkened to a deep purple, then to black. It wasn't long before Sebastian was light-headed. The edges of his vision fuzzed and he could no longer sense his body. His human form flickered, then the world went as black as his blood.

When he regained consciousness, the team of Shinigami had settled in to take measurements instead. As soon as they noticed he was awake, however, they went straight back to the blood. Almost the instant they nicked in, Sebastian slipped under.

So they abandoned the blood for the day, finishing their measurements instead. They reopened their autopsy wounds to examine the state of his body without blood. Under ordinary circumstances, with as well as Sebastian had eaten over the past weeks, he would have stored enough energy to have healed many times over—beyond even yesterday's ordeal. But they'd reached his spirit blood, the blood that stored souls, kept them running throughout his form, energizing him, healing him. That black blood contained the essences of many human lives, but they had taken so much of it from him. When they closed him up for the day, it did not escape their notice that he did not begin to heal.

They chattered about this among themselves, then began to experiment. By trial and error, they discovered that the black blood, when returned to him, had an effect. They were thrilled. They took the blood with them and went away chattering, leaving Sebastian to the cold metal of the table.

He would not be able to heat it this night.

* * *

The Shinigami continued their examination for days on end. Sebastian only knew to count them by the arrival and departure of the team in white masks. His sight was too hazy to comprehend much beyond that. He had no idea how many times they had come, only that it had been enough for him to lose track. Every day brought with it some fresh torture, but his mind was as hazy as his sight, so he felt it dully. A blessing, he supposed, though he _did_ feel it.

What they would do with the information gained by studying him, he had not the slightest idea. Certainly it would have been useful to them—understanding a demon's anatomy. He channeled all of his energy into maintaining his human form, thinking that maybe he'd be able to spare some of the consequences by keeping that hidden from them.

He had no such luck.

Whether the Shinigami intended or not, they wore him down. They took so much blood and gave back so little. Sebastian had no means of replenishing it himself without souls. During one of their examinations, his heart simply started to beat in rapid and erratic thuds. Darkness edged in, and though he had felt relatively little under the daze of pain and semi-consciousness, he felt his human form drop acutely.

Even if he hadn't felt it, the collective gasp of the Shinigami would have informed him.

His shadows curled and crept into every corner of the room—shrouding the white in blackness. Long claws revealed themselves on the ends of his fingers, his skin turning a shining, inky black from head to heel. Immediately, the Shinigami scrambled to take notes and measurements and make observations.

Some clarity returned to his perception. He sensed with perfect accuracy where each cut and poke was and had been. He knew then that it had been weeks since he had left this chamber. Weeks, and not a sign of Grelle.

That cut him deeper than anything else.

He had not come to atone for his actions because he felt guilty, or respected the Shinigami, or had some kind of moral obligation. He had come as an apology to her—because this was the only way he could have put things right between them. What he had done had hurt her. He _was_ sorry for that. Surely she knew. She _must_ have known that she was the only reason he had agreed, had come at all. And yet, he had neither seen nor sensed her.

His heart ceased its frenzied beating as it broke. Sebastian shut his eyes, let his head drop against the table in finality.

If she did not care for him, he would rather be dead.

* * *

Sebastian ceased giving attention to anything aside from the emptiness in his heart. He longer cared what the Shinigami would do to him. He suspected they would keep him alive until the last possible moment, glean every bit of information out of him, then let him die. They had no reason to release him back into the world. He was their sworn enemy.

It was odd—when one lived what was essentially an eternal existence—to think of that existence winking out. He had seen so much death, and yet had no true comprehension of what it was, what it meant. It was simply a condition for mortals. Now he contemplated it daily.

Another week went by and as the Shinigami left him, there was a sense of completion about it, like they would not return. Sebastian shivered. He had never spent so long exposed to the world in his true form. It expended heat more quickly than his human one, and he'd been cold for ages—the metal on his back, around his wrists, around his ankles. The Shinigami even shut off the overhead lights as they went. Sebastian was plunged into near-darkness.

Ordinarily that would have been a comfort for him. A soft light still shone above the door. His shadows, beyond his control now, shifted around the room in swirling vapor. Without the strength to control even those, Sebastian felt more vulnerable than he had ever before. Like a newly-hatched chick from which someone had peeled away the shell.

A latch clicked. A red aura filled the room. Sebastian would have lifted his head and exulted, but he could not. Grelle lingered in the doorway.

"So this is what you look like," she said.

She came forward, taking careful steps until she was beside him gazing down. Sebastian wanted—he wanted to feel…something, but he couldn't. He couldn't feel anything, not even relief or anger or surprise at her arrival. To his dull comprehension, the two of them were just…there.

A quiet pain crept into his heart, and he wished Grelle had not seen this—this monster he could become. He started to writhe at what she must think of him now. His eyes squeezed shut. He willed himself to be invisible.

"I'm not afraid," Grelle said.

Sebastian opened his eyes. She was looking at him softly, her hip leaned against the table. It was impossible—how could she stand to see him?

Silent, she undid the band around his wrist and lifted his hand in her own. He flinched at her touch, but she brushed her fingers across the back of his hand and over the ribbing that wound round at the bottom of his palm, down the length of his fingers, to the long, black claws at their ends.

"They're nearly finished," she said.

"Where were you?" he asked, his voice rasping with soreness. "Where have you been?"

"Watching," Grelle said and the word clipped off into a sob. She couldn't speak anymore for a moment, but regained herself. "Everything. From the second you entered this room. I know how they hurt you, and I—I…" She choked down another sob. "As soon as it's over I'll come home, I'll go with you, I promise, I—"

His grip tightened around her hand.

"Only if you want to, Grelle," he said.

Her eyes flicked down. She focused on the floor, but she did not withdraw. For many moments, she was quiet. When she did open her mouth to speak, she did not raise her head.

"I still need time, Sebastian. And space. I can't go back to how it used to be. Not right away. I just…"

"Grelle."

She looked up.

"I do not want a return to the way things used to be. We are changed beings, you and I. I want to start anew."

Her controlled expression faltered. She looked down, then back up, and there were tears in her eyes and she was smiling. Sniffing, she nodded.

"Me too."

He should have known she was near. He should have understood that she would not abandon him, but of course he was still selfish and stupid and cruel. She had been there. She had _always_ been there.

"I'm sorry…for this," Grelle said. A couple of tears streaked down her face and she shook her head, looking at their reflection in that mirror in the wall.

"I am sorry to have put us both in this position," he replied.

She shut her eyes. "I forgive you."

Those were the most glorious words he had heard in all his years. They sent a wash of light throughout his veins, filling him up, making him warm for the first time in weeks. He tried to squeeze Grelle's hand, but lacked the strength even for that. She felt the movement, though, and looked at him.

"They may still kill you, Sebastian."

He could only make an affirmative sound in the back of his throat.

"The examination team has what it needs, the Board got what it wants, but…they're loath to let you walk out of here in one piece."

"And you?"

Grelle shook her head. "I don't know. I doubt I've done enough to keep my position here—no, don't look sorry. It's all right. I'm not really suited to be a director anyway. Even in an office this small." She gave a small laugh—at herself, it seemed. "Frankly, I'm uncertain how I ended up here in the first place."

"You did your job."

"Yes, but _why?_ Me of all people!"

Sebastian had to laugh at that, but it was painful and sent waves of agony through his ribs, so he choked it off. Grelle's eyebrows drew together and she looked so remorseful it made him feel sorry for laughing.

"You're in so much pain," she said.

"I've managed."

"That doesn't mean I have to like it."

He conceded, closing his eyes. Both of them were quiet for a moment, but the silence was not so abrasive, as it had been. Whatever they would do to him tomorrow, Sebastian could endure, knowing that Grelle was just on the other side of the wall. Though he hated that they'd made her to watch, he had to admit he found some comfort in sharing his suffering. Eventually, Grelle leaned off the table and returned his arm to its cuff.

"My fifteen minutes are up," she said.

"Best be punctual."

He forced his eyes open so he could look at her one last time. She nodded, then headed for the door.

"If we make it out of this…" she said, and trailed off. "Let's prove them wrong about us."

A weak smile crossed Sebastian's lips. "It would be my pleasure."


	12. Chapter 12

Grelle no longer knew what to feel. It was Sebastian's last day in the lab, but he was so weak and there was no way to help him outside of finding a soul for him to feed on—and besides that, she didn't even know if they would let him leave. She knew how little they wanted that. She knew how easy it would be for the examination team to just kill Sebastian on accident. She longed to go home with him and yet was terrified of what that would mean. Rather than deal with any of the conflicting emotions, she tried to silence them. Unfortunately, she wasn't very good at that, so she wound up just feeling confused instead.

She sat in the observation room by herself, watching Sebastian in his demon form lie motionless on the table. He was terribly beautiful—even like that. Silky black, surrounded by shadows. The look suited him. It was a revelation of what he truly was. And it was in that form that he had said he wanted to start anew.

For whatever reason, that made Grelle believe it all the more.

The door opened and the observation team trickled in, Ronald among them. She met his eye and they exchanged uncertain expressions. Anything could happen today. On the other side of the glass, the examination team filed into Sebastian's chamber.

Inexplicably, Simmons appeared in the doorway behind Ronald.

"Um, Director Sutcliff, sir—"

Grelle sat up like a bolt and startled him, but he continued.

"Summons for you, sir. From the Board."

Her heart leapt into her throat and Grelle wobbled to her feet. "Right now?"

"Yes, sir."

What did that mean? Grelle nodded to him and Simmons scurried off. She spared only a glance at Ronald before making her way out of the room and through the hallways. Did they plan to do Sebastian in and needed a surefire way to keep her under control? Did they want to fire her, then send her back to watch Sebastian die, knowing she hadn't done enough? Knowing she had failed and would be removed? She shook her head. She had to stop thinking like that. Like Sebastian was going to die either way.

She hesitated in front of the door that would admit her to the boardroom. Carefully, she raised a fist and knocked. A latch clicked, and the door swung open. Grelle stepped into the shadows.

Entering the boardroom always made her feel so tiny. She stepped into the single light at the center and looked submissively at her feet, not daring to even raise her eyes to the blackness above the bench.

"Director Grelle Sutcliff."

"At your service," she said, and it sounded fake though she meant it sincerely.

"The experiments with the demon Sebastian Michaelis conclude today."

Grelle said nothing. Better to say nothing than agree to a statement of fact and get tangled up in it somehow. The voice continued.

"He has provided a wealth of knowledge," it said. "Far beyond anything previously imagined. Your efforts in bringing him into custody are acknowledged."

Grelle's chin trembled and she bit her lips and clenched her jaw to keep from giving herself away. Still, she stayed silent. They had called _her_ here, not the other way around. Whatever they wanted, they could have out with it. She wasn't in a state of mind to play their games—even fully functioning, she wasn't any good at it.

"You may keep your position as director, under condition that if anything of this nature should happen again, you will be terminated immediately without a reprieve period."

Grelle let out her breath, but that wasn't what she cared about.

"And Sebastian?" she asked.

"What of him?"

"What will you do with him?"

Silence for a moment, then. "We can't very well release him."

"You've broken him, he can't harm us anymore!"

" _He still feeds on souls, does he not?_ " the voice roared in a great, multi-tonal cacophony. " _He still requires spirits to survive?_ "

Grelle covered her mouth with both her hands, willing herself to stay silent, but she could not. She couldn't hold it in, so she let them have it.

"Of course he does! He's a demon for gods' sake! What would you expect of him? It's his nature. He doesn't choose the force that sustains him!"

Her voice echoed into the space far above her head. There was no answer. Not for a long time. Grelle could hear only her breath as it came and went from her lungs in impassioned huffs. She lifted her head and looked into the darkness.

"You care for him still."

"I do," she said. "Gods help me, I do."

Silence.

"He is an intelligent being, and therefore his cooperation is worthy of some reward." The voice paused. "And yet the truth of his nature is undeniable. We cannot, in good conscience, return a demon to prey on the souls of men. He will die unless he feeds."

Suddenly, Grelle remembered something.

"The deal," she said, and shook with the realization. "The deal we were discussing before this whole mess happened. The souls On High deems unworthy to store. Let Sebastian have them. Let him destroy them for you. There is no other method, and even if it's only for the meantime, until you find some other way… Please." Her heart beat in her temples and her palms started to sweat. It was the only answer, the only way to get him out of Dispatch safely. They had to agree. She had to convince them.

"We have no guarantee that he would remain loyal to us."

"Someone could supervise him, make sure he—"

"That would require full-time observation," the voices replied, incredulous. "We cannot spare Shinigami to babysit one of his kind."

"How do you plan to destroy the souls without a demon?"

They did not answer.

"This is your only choice."

They did not answer.

"I'll supervise him," she said.

Silent surprise filled the air. Grelle had surprised herself.

"That would require you to step down as director of the Yorkshire Branch."

Grelle swallowed. "I know."

"You are willing to relinquish any advancement in your career to take a permanent post guarding a _demon?_ One who has betrayed you in the rather recent past?"

Grelle nodded. Against every doubtful thought and pain, she nodded. She had to trust him. They had to trust each other. It was the only way they would ever be able to move beyond what had happened. She would have given anything to keep Sebastian alive.

"I am," she said.

"Very well. Until an alternative method for the disposal of souls is discovered, the demon Sebastian Michaelis may become such a method, should he so choose. If he does not agree to these terms, we will dispose of him."

Grelle couldn't believe her ears. Had she really just—

"Now depart. Contracts for the both of you will be drafted. You will sign them and return to your home in Felixkirk to await further instruction."

Nodding, Grelle let a deep breath out of her lungs. Her heart soared and she turned to leave the room, the weight in her limbs and her mind floating away. He would live. And he would continue to live. And they would be together until the end.

* * *

The white-masked Shinigami left him that day more broken and closer to the brink—not for trying, but simply for the combined stress and pain inflicted over the past weeks. Sebastian knew, deep down, that he was dying. The process would still be slow, a simple withering away into a dried husk of shadows, but it had begun. They had done enough to kill him. So when they returned, perhaps only an hour later, bearing a soul with them, Sebastian nearly died of shock instead.

The maddening _scent_ of it! He had never smelled anything so delicious in his eternity. The hunger it wrought in his stomach was fierce and grinding and it hurt him. Almost as much as their experiments had. For a moment he thought this might be another, one final test to see how desperate they had made him—then they undid his bonds.

The Shinigami bearing the soul, contained in a neat, white box, set it atop the table beside Sebastian.

"You can have this," he said. "If you want."

"What kind of trickery is this?" Sebastian demanded. He trusted only one Shinigami, and that wasn't about to change.

"It isn't a trick," the reaper replied. "It's a soul we've been storing. Too unholy to keep on. On High wants it destroyed, trouble is, we can't figure out how to destroy it—save letting one of you lot chow down. Director Sutcliff's worked out a deal, I guess. You get to eat any souls like this one until we find another method of destroying them. Free meals. Comes with a lot of conditions, though."

"Grelle has done this?"

The Shinigami nodded. "Traded her position as director to become your minder or summat. She's already agreed to the terms."

The gnawing hunger would have been enough to get Sebastian to agree to the terms regardless of his not knowing them, but the fact that Grelle had arranged and agreed already made every last ounce of his apprehension disappear.

"Then I shall accept them as well."

"Brilliant." The Shinigami smiled beneath his mask. "All yours then."

He lifted the lid on the box and a dim light shone out—the soul's light. The scent grew even stronger. The scent of corruption. The scent of evil. The scent of an unimaginable murderer. The soul was so sullied, its light hardly shined at all. The core of it was an absolute black. Sebastian reached into the box, hesitant, wary of the fact that it could still be a trick. Then he thought of Grelle, and what choice had he? Either he took this soul, and the Shinigamis' terms, and returned to her, or he remained on the table and died, abandoning her. He would not do that. He _could_ not do that. No longer.

Weakly, his fingers closed around the soul and he clasped it in his hand. He could feel its pulse and ebb. It's cold, black aura stuck close. Sebastian breathed it in.

The vitality it brought nearly overwhelmed him. All at once, Sebastian was hit with a wave of clarity, sensation, healing—like he'd been frozen in ice one instant and broiling in an oven the next. Every sensory perceptor he had opened in a miraculous, powerful flow of warmth and energy. Suddenly he was able to see more clearly, hear more acutely, taste the flavor of the roof of his own mouth. The nerves on every one of his limbs tingled. In a flash, his shadows retracted, shivered, then spread across the room again, back under his control. And the experience kept expanding, filling his vision—everything—with a blinding white light.

Regardless of the fact that he'd been starved for weeks, that soul was the single most nourishing he had ever consumed in his life.

When his senses returned to normal, he found the team of Shinigami furiously scribbling notes and chattering at each other like a group of primates. A dull aching settled into his bones and body. The soul had been enough to heal him, but not enough to bring him back to full strength, given the extent of the damage they had wreaked. Sebastian couldn't have held a human form if he had tried.

The lead Shinigami stumbled up to him in an excited daze. "May we bring you another?" he asked.

Sebastian nodded. "Please."


	13. Chapter 13

Grelle packed up her office. Simmons had brought her news that Sebastian had accepted the proposal. She was finished as a director, but it didn't feel like such a loss. The past weeks had been a veritable hellscape, and she wasn't exactly keen on keeping the position anyways. Joke was on them. She had always preferred collection—getting out in the thick of it, reviewing souls, killing demons. Being an administrator had never been a strong suit, or even a desire. Just the natural course of doing one's job properly. And Grelle didn't much care for that, either.

The Board would see how this new arrangement worked out with Sebastian, and eventually, once he proved trustworthy— _if_ he proved trustworthy—they'd move her back into the field. They couldn't afford to have a reaper babysitting a demon for the rest of time. Even one as manic as she.

So, she packed up her office. There wasn't much to pack. Lots of filing to throw out, lots of bits to organize, but there wasn't much that belonged to her. Just a few knickknacks atop the desk and a dead houseplant. Even if they'd wanted to keep her on, she wouldn't have accepted. This office was miserable now. It held too many terrible memories. She and Sebastian would need to move on, start fresh, go somewhere else.

They were changed beings, after all.

Grelle set the last of her belongings into the single, small trunk and shut the lid. On the floor beside it was the bag Sebastian had brought with him when he'd come—the one with his clothes and the copy of _Wuthering Heights._ He'd read it so often, the spine was practically spitting out its leaves.

Simmons's timid knock sounded at the door.

"Yes?" Grelle called.

"They've finished with him, sir," he said, entering as he spoke. "Told me to tell you he'd meet you outside."

"Very good, Simmons."

"Thank you, sir."

Grelle locked the trunk, set the bag on top, and lifted both together. She headed for the door, and Simmons ducked out of the way of her approach. She was halfway down the hall before he called after her.

"Pleasure working with you, sir." He cleared his throat. "Y-you'll be missed."

Pausing at the end of the hall, Grelle turned and offered Simmons a smile. "Thank you," she said. "The pleasure was all mine."

A nervous smile twitched onto Simmons's mouth, then he nodded, excusing himself and hurrying the opposite direction down the hall. With a sigh, Grelle pushed through the set of doors. She wouldn't miss that sniveling little twerp in the slightest. He'd never been able to enter a room without shuffling his feet.

* * *

She stood outside in the alley where the Dispatch office had its doors. At the opposite end of the shadows between the buildings, people shuffled back and forth along the Shambles. Humans, mostly. Completely oblivious to her, to the organization, to their own mortality, to the things that two beings had endured for more than a month. The world was cruel. Grelle knew that, but she didn't care. There could be beauty in cruelty. If one made it out the other side.

Grelle dragged the toe of her shoe through the dust and dirt on the cobblestone courtyard. It was taking Sebastian ages to emerge. She began to wonder whether it was all an elaborate hoax—if he was dead in the depths of Dispatch and she an exiled Shinigami. If this had been their plan to get rid of them both all along. Her throat tightened and she shook the frenzied thoughts from her mind. She couldn't afford to think like that, not anymore.

Eventually, she sat on top of her trunk and propped up her chin in her hands to wait. With every passing second, she grew less and less certain he would come. Then the door clicked open and a demon squinted in the sunlight.

Sebastian stepped out of Dispatch and shut the door behind him. Grelle had shot to her feet at the sound of the latch. He glanced around for her and smiled when their eyes connected.

He looked healthy—no longer weak but certainly not at full strength. A pale pallor still clung to his skin. The human form he held was familiar, and he must have created some kind of illusory clothing as part of it, but his eyes looked different. Changed. Pained. Deep. The eyes were remorseful. Grelle had never seen him look remorseful before.

"Thank you," he said.

Nodding, Grelle swallowed. "You're welcome."

"I have been wrong about you so many times, Grelle," he continued, "though you have always been honest with me. Trust is not something a demon excels in, but… Damn it, I trust you. I used to fear that, and push it away, but I cannot abide such an action any longer. I'm sorry for what I've done. For how I've treated you."

Grelle couldn't help a sad smile. "Apology accepted," she said. "Please don't apologize again."

"From this day I will never do anything to you that will require an apology." His hands clenched into fists. "I will never harm you again, Grelle. I swear it."

Bending, Grelle fished his coat out of the carpet bag and offered it to him. Sebastian looked up, surprised, and took it. He slid his arms into the sleeves and seemed to relish the warmth for a moment before turning his attention back to Grelle.

"What do we do now?" he asked.

"We go back to our house and 'await further instruction,'" Grelle replied.

Sebastian turned his gaze down the alley at the people passing only several yards away. "I do not want to go back there," he said, somewhat distant.

"Neither do I."

He glanced back at her. "We should make our home somewhere else."

"Mm. Somewhere new."

"Somewhere neither of us has been before."

"Rome?"

"I served a contract there."

"Madrid?"

"Between 1600 and 1604."

"Jerusalem?"

"The site of my first summoning."

Grelle laughed. "You're not making this very easy."

Sebastian conceded a smile. He dropped his head and let that smile shine at the ground for a moment. They both knew they would go wherever Dispatch told them to go. Neither of them had any say in the matter. Sebastian was a soul-disposal tool now and Grelle his handler. The Shinigami would want to keep them close, on hand for convenient use. Sebastian seemed to contemplate this, looking at his feet.

"As long as I am with you, it does not matter where I live," he said.

Reaching out, Grelle put her hand on his arm and it startled him. He looked up, jolting, and she shied back, removing her hand. Tears filled Sebastian's eyes. Grelle didn't think she had ever seen him cry before.

"How can you still care for me?" he whispered. "After everything I've done…"

Grelle put her hand on his arm again. "I don't know," she said. "I only know that I do. So you're stuck with me."

He laughed and wiped his eyes. "We're stuck with each other."

"Seems that way, yeah."

Sebastian smiled. "Good."


	14. Chapter 14

The sunrise over the rolling Yorkshire hills was spectacular. Sebastian had never before been affected by a sunrise—the light and the colors that threw themselves across the sky and clouds. A dainty mist hung in the air, making the view fuzzy, but not dim. As the sun rose, it burned off the mist and left everything crisp and clear and biting. Sebastian's heart thrummed to look at it, to think that this was the last time for a long time he would stand on Sutton Bank. The wind picked up and he grinned into it, bracing himself against its push and its cold.

The Shinigami had decided to send himself and Grelle back to London. The move was temporary, until they heard from other offices around the world—at which point the two of them would be shipped off to see to the destruction of any souls those offices might have had. The time might come in the future when souls would be sent to Sebastian instead, but he didn't mind traveling for a time. He had ages to waste—and what was essentially permanent vacation with Grelle could not have been more ideal a proposal. Strangely, he was excited about it. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been excited about something.

Grelle brought out all kinds of bizarre emotions in him.

He left the Bank, dashing across the fields and hills until he arrived at their little cottage outside Felixkirk. The Lumley brothers had sold their house, gifted the carpenter's shop to Charlie, and were moving away—to London, after Mortimer's fruitful visit south. They would be the Lumleys no longer, but some new invented beings. New people for each new place.

Quiet, Sebastian entered the house. The clutter was gone, packed up, but most of the furniture remained, covered in sheets until the new owners arrived. He breezed through to triple check that they hadn't missed anything. Then he headed upstairs.

Grelle was asleep in their room, nestled among the white blankets on the bed. Her wild, red hair spread in every direction. Sebastian had opened the window for her before he'd left and the wind he'd felt up on the Bank, now just a breeze, blew in, floating the lace curtains. He sat on the edge of the bed and brushed her hair out of her face.

She was beautiful. Peaceful. She very rarely looked that way, usually shouting or laughing or telling someone off. It fascinated him how she could look so delicate and yet still be the insatiable killer that she was. How she could sleep in white sheets and yet bathe herself in blood. Many years had passed since she had done that, but Sebastian knew the inclination was still inside her. He could sense it in the red pulse of her aura. He liked it. It made him want to kiss her, as if that would help him understand.

Things between them had not gone back to the way they had been before. Sebastian had slept in their spare room and the two of them had been careful around each other, but he could feel the barriers breaking down. That fire was still there. That strange desire he felt for her—that he had felt for her from the beginning, in spite of himself. He couldn't explain her beauty, or how he had acquired a taste for her, but he had. Above it all, he loved her now. It was a new sensation—just a tiny sapling that he would take care to nurture. He had never loved anyone before.

Grelle stirred and stretched, smiling when she noticed him. She settled into a new position and shut her eyes, but the room was bright now, and they would have to be on their way within the hour.

"Good morning," she said.

"Good morning, Grelle."

"We're off to London today."

"Mm."

"And from London, the _world_." She tossed her hands up in some dramatic gesture of world domination and laughed. Her arms fell back against the bed, but one of her hands searched out Sebastian's and laced their fingers together. The gesture made his heart stutter. "Do you want to go?"

He shook his head. "It does not matter to me where I am."

"So long as we're together, right?"

He smiled. "You jest, but yes. That is what I meant."

Grelle sat up. She was quiet for a moment, inspecting their joined hands, brushing her fingers across his. She moved closer and Sebastian's heart beat furiously, nervous. In the past, she had never made him nervous, but her nearness then made his head swim.

"Awfully forward of you to visit a lady's bedroom so early in the morning," she said softly, right into his ear so that the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. She pressed her body against him. "What kind of impression are you trying to send?"

Sebastian swallowed and it was then Grelle noticed the state her teasing had sent him in. She laughed.

"Gods, look at you," she said. "Like a little boy in church."

Sebastian couldn't find the words to reply, so she laughed again. Grelle let him go and got up from the bed, but as she started to walk away, he reached out and took hold of her wrist, so she stopped and glanced back at him over her shoulder. Pulling her toward him, he rose and wrapped an arm low around her waist.

"Neither you nor I belongs in a church," he said.

She reached up and put her arms around his neck. "You think I don't know that?"

He smiled, then let his forehead come to rest against hers. She was cool to the touch as she had always been, and he basked in it, in the balance that she brought him. Grelle lifted her chin and pressed her lips to his and he forgot where he was for a moment before he melted, clutching her close and kissing back with his own powerful heat. She broke from him, but did not move away, catching her breath and his eye.

"Gods, I've missed this," she said, and pushed him onto the bed.


	15. Epilogue

Grelle raised an eyebrow at the squat terraced house whose number matched the one on the paper they'd given her at Dispatch. It slumped against its neighbors though it shared walls with them. _This_ was where they would be living? The garden out front had been replaced with rocks and the only green it offered was weeds. A window on the top floor had been boarded up. It was one of hundreds in identical row after row almost too far out of London to even say it was _in_ London. To make matters worse, they wouldn't even have the whole house—just a room inside it.

"Well, they certainly spared no expense," she said.

At her side, Sebastian simply smiled, turning his gaze from the house to her. It was strange to see an expression so genuine on a demon. He'd smiled before, naturally, but until recently, Grelle had never seen him smile like that.

"You expected more from Shinigami?" he said.

Grelle conceded with a bitter laugh. "Fair point."

"Come," Sebastian said, and gestured for the two of them to go inside.

They found the landlady on the ground floor and she clucked around them, inspecting, for a minute or two before leading them upstairs. Theirs was the room on the top floor—an attic essentially, just an empty space from wall to wall. Dark, dusty. A few beams of grey sunshine leaked between the boards over the single window at the far end. The landlady gave them the key to the door and squeaked back down the stairs. Grelle set her travel case down and stifled the frustrated tears that had risen in her throat. To think they'd left their cottage in Yorkshire for this.

Quietly, Sebastian shut and locked the door. He stepped over to her, wrapping his arms around her from behind and pressing his body close.

"It will be all right," he said.

Grelle scoffed, so he released her, but took hold of her hand to draw her across the room with him to the window. There he let go for but a moment to rip the boards down and let in the light. The view from the window was actually quite lovely. Their street lay at the crest of a hill and the window faced south, a sea of rooves and chimney pots that went on for miles and miles to meet the distant city.

"London is that way," Sebastian said, sliding his hands down Grelle's sides. "I'm going to take you there. I'm going to buy you a house in Mayfair. I'm going to give you the best of everything."

Grelle laughed, but it was small, as she leaned against him and lifted a hand to stroke his cheek. Maybe the situation wasn't so bad. They were together, after all. "If you say so, love."

Sebastian took her hand from his face and pressed a deep kiss to her knuckles. He looked at her, long and intent and—still to her disbelief—in love. Then he smiled.

"I do not tell lies."


End file.
